


I Put a Spell on You

by angelsaves



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-21
Updated: 2012-09-21
Packaged: 2017-11-14 18:32:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/518254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelsaves/pseuds/angelsaves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sidney Crosby takes candy from a fan in D.C., and ends up feeling... weird. Alex Ovechkin is only too happy to help him out with his problem. (Sex pollen scenario.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Put a Spell on You

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place in an alternate universe where a) the 2012-13 season is underway by Halloween, 2) star players sign posters before games, and C) hockey fans can put sex pollen in peanut butter cups.

As soon as he swallows, Sid knows it was a bad idea. They're not supposed to take food from fans, for a variety of reasons, most of them good ones. But it was just a peanut butter cup, and Sid hasn't eaten in _hours_ , and it's Halloween, and... And he still should have known better. 

Ovechkin's giving him a weird look. Sid shakes himself, ignores the tickle in the back of his throat, and goes back to signing posters. They can get at least twenty-five more done before it's time to go get ready for warm-ups if they keep going steadily.

The tickle in his throat doesn't go away, though, even when he gulps Gatorade in the locker room. By the end of the anthem, it's spread down to his stomach. Sid tries to convince himself it's just butterflies, but that doesn't even make sense. Why would he be nervous playing the Caps? 

At least he's doing a pretty good job covering for the fact that he has -- what does he even have, some kind of strange peanut butter cup-borne illness? -- whatever it is. He picks up two assists in the first ten minutes, then a third in the second period, and he scores just before the final buzzer, even though Ovechkin has been staring at him practically the whole time.

Whatever. The Pens won, and now Sidney can go back to his hotel room and... lie down, or something. He's starting to feel weird all over, now that he's peeling off his pads, sort of tingly and... oh, shit. The second he takes off his cup, his dick springs to attention like he's a fucking thirteen-year-old again. That's inconvenient.

Sid holds his towel casually in front of his crotch as he walks to the showers. Probably, if Jordy were still here, he'd make some kind of joke out of Sidney being hockey-sexual. It would be kind of embarrassing, but then everybody would laugh, and it'd be over with. Instead, he's pretending not to have a hard-on, and the other guys are probably pretending they don't notice he has a hard-on, and it's awkward and stupid. And he kind of misses Jordy. Stupid Hurricanes, stupid Eric Staal.

He shuts his eyes under the spray and lathers up. He can't really blame Jordy for wanting to play with his brother, though. If he and Taylor could play for the same team, that'd be pretty cool, right? Fun and completely unrelated to boners. Sidney focuses as hard as he can on getting clean and thinking innocent thoughts.

It doesn't work very well, though. Even when he towels himself off extra-hard, he still feels weirdly tingly all over, and he has to tuck his dick into the waistband of his shorts for his suit pants to fit right. And then, of course, as soon as he walks out of the locker room, Ovechkin is waiting for him.

"Sidney Crosby!" Ovechkin shouts, waving his arms in the air.

"Alex Ovechkin," Sid replies, less exuberantly.

"Come home with me, Sidney Crosby!" Ovechkin slings one arm over Sidney's shoulders and starts pulling him along.

Sid recoils instinctively, then tries to hide it, leaning back into Ovechkin's solid chest like it's a completely normal thing for him to do. "Why?" he asks. And why is he letting Ovechkin drag him to the players' lot?

"Bonding!" Ovechkin says. "We need to bond, Sidney Crosby. And give candy to children!"

"Do you even celebrate Halloween in Russia?" 

"No, but we not in Russia, so happy Halloween!"

"I... okay," Sid says. "Sure, let's bond." Agreeing is easier than arguing, he tells himself. It has nothing to do with the way his weird all-over tingle turns into something almost pleasant where Ovechkin is touching him.

Shortly, Sidney finds himself climbing into Ovechkin's matte Benz (who gets a matte car? Ovechkin, he guesses). It's comfortable, though. He pulls the door shut and buckles his seat belt. 

"Sidney Crosby," Ovechkin says, leaning in.

Sid leans back a little. "Alex Ovechkin?" he tries.

"I saw peanut butter cup before game. You have strange feelings?"

"How do you know?" Sidney asks, squinting at him.

"Feel... tickly?" Ovechkin demonstrates, wiggling his fingers over his forearms like he's playing the piano. "And you have boner but can't jizz?"

"I haven't tried," Sidney says. "What the fuck? How do you know all that?"

"It happen to Sasha once," he says, then laughs. "Jizz can't jizz! Until he gets help."

"What do you mean, help?" This is getting weirder and weirder. Ovechkin starts the car, then puts his arm around the back of Sid's seat to back out of his parking space. Sidney is torn between wanting to ask Ovechkin for his personal space back, please, and wanting to ask him to... "What do you mean, _help_?" he asks again.

"I tell you when we get home," Ovechkin says. "You choose music for the radio."

"Enigmatic Russians," Sid mutters under his breath, leaning forward to press the first preset button. 

Ovechkin doesn't politely pretend not to have heard him; he laughs like crazy. "Enigmatic Russians!" he repeats. "Me, enigma! Real enigma is why Milbury still has job, eh?"

Sid coughs to disguise his laugh. "That's not nice," he says.

"True, though," Ovechkin says, "and true better than nice."

"You think?" Sid turns to look at him full on, vaguely thinking that seeing him more clearly will help understand his thought process. It doesn't, really. His pale blue eyes are fixed on the road, and his jaw is angular under the scruff, and fuck, Sid's hard-on is getting really hard to ignore.

"Canadians different," Ovechkin says. He flashes a gap-toothed smile at Sid, then looks back at the road. 

Sidney shifts uncomfortably in his seat. This isn't the first time he's had an inappropriate Ovechkin-related boner, but it's the first time it's happened in such close proximity to the guy himself. Sid's going to his _house_.His dick twitches hopefully at the thought, and he shoots a glare down at his lap. When Ovie said "help," he probably meant calling a hotline or... or showing him some horrible Russian porn or something. Not... not anything else. Not that he'd want that, anyway.

When they get to Ovechkin's house, Sid follows him inside, then doesn't really know what to do, so he stands with his back to the door and puts his hands in his pockets. Well, he tries; he always forgets that his suit pants don't really have enough pocket to fit his hands in, so actually, he's standing in Ovechkin's front room with his fingertips in his pockets like a big idiot, and why is Ovechkin looking at him like that?

"Know what they say about men with big hands," Ovechkin says, and wiggles his eyebrows.

Sidney snorts. "You're not funny," he informs him.

"I am funny!" Ovechkin protests. Then he takes a deep breath and says, "When Sasha eat wrong candy from fan, he can't jizz by himself. Need help from friend."

"Help from a friend?" Sidney repeats, squirming.

Ovie nods. "You need help, so I am volunteer." 

"This is crazy," Sid says. "I don't even know that I can't... get off by myself! Maybe this is something different."

"It was same fan," Ovechkin says. "Is why I watched you, to see if it happen to you, or if maybe just a Sasha thing." He looks at Sidney, and the corner of his mouth droops a little. "You want to use bathroom, see if different, be my guest."

"I want to try by myself," Sidney says firmly. 

"Okay," Ovechkin says. He leads Sidney past the doorway that looks like it's probably his bedroom to a big, fancy bathroom. Everything is done up in black and silver, as shiny as his car isn't. "Lotion on counter," he says unnecessarily, and closes the door almost in Sid's face.

He shouldn't be in the mood, not after... that, except he totally is. He's so hard his dick is practically throbbing. Gritting his teeth, Sidney sits down on the edge of the jacuzzi tub and gets his dick out of his pants. 

Wait. He should probably take off his jacket first, so he doesn't get anything on it. He stands back up and hangs it on the back of the door, next to a dry towel, then realizes he might as well take his good shirt off too. And then he's standing there in suit pants and nice shoes, which is weird, so he toes off his shoes and hangs his pants up too.

His boxers are staying on, though. He has boundaries, unlike some people, who invite people over to their houses to... to what, jerk them off? Let them jerk off in their bathrooms? Well, fine. Sidney pumps some lotion into his hand and sits back down. 

The lotion is room temperature, obviously, but it feels so cold on his dick that Sid hisses through his teeth. That would normally make his boner fade a little, but it doesn't at all. Maybe Ovie isn't wrong. 

No, it's too soon to think about that. Resolutely, Sidney starts to jerk himself off, first slowly, then faster and harder. It shouldn't take very long; he's not a teenager anymore, but he's been jerking off while on a tight schedule for basically his whole life. Sometimes he takes his time, but he's never lost the trick of getting off quickly.

Until now, apparently. When Sidney glances down at his watch, it's been close to five minutes, and he doesn't even feel _close_. Fine, he thinks, okay, I'll think about something hot. He gets more lotion, then closes his eyes and thinks about porn, imagining a chiseled model type sucking his dick, fingering his ass, fucking him... and nothing. If anything, he just gets harder.

"God _damn_ it," he says out loud.

"Sid, you okay?" Ovechkin's voice floats in through the door.

Jesus, has he been listening this whole time? Sidney's dick twitches at that thought, and he glares down at it. "I'm fine," he calls back firmly.

"You sure?"

Sid is about to shout back something like _Of course I'm sure, it's my fucking dick,_ but he thinks better of it at the last moment. Instead, he stuffs his dick back in his shorts and storms over to the door to tell Ovie face to face.

When he opens the door and finds Ovechkin standing right there, though, he doesn't say anything at all. Ovechkin's eyes are wide, and he's staring at Sid, and apparently Sid has completely lost his mind, because he reaches up and pulls Ovechkin in by the hair and kisses him. At first it's awkward, their noses bumping, and Sidney is just about to pull back and frantically plead insanity, but then Ovie laughs against his mouth and changes the angle, and. Oh. 

This wasn't what Sidney was planning to do at all, except maybe it sort of was, because how could kissing Ovechkin feel more awesome than he'd imagined if he hadn't imagined it first? He pushes up on his toes to get more leverage, and Ovechkin plants one hand at the small of his back, pulling them closer together. Sid's dick rubs against Ovechkin's thigh, and that feels so good he gasps.

Ovechkin cups Sid's jaw and moves their mouths apart a little, just enough to say, "Want help now, Sid?"

"God, yes," Sidney says.

"Good," Ovie says. "Bedroom?"

"Or you could fuck me here against the wall," Sid says, then snaps his mouth shut and blushes. That was an inside thought.

Ovie laughs, though, and says, "Not good for knees." He pushes Sid towards the bedroom by the shoulders, then slaps him lightly on the ass, making him squawk. "Take off shorts," he directs.

"Okay," Sidney says. He peels them off and drops them at the foot of Ovechkin's huge bed. He doesn't strike a pose or anything, that would be weird, but Ovie stops and looks at him appreciatively anyway before he pulls down the comforter and rearranges the pillows. 

"Here," Ovie says, gesturing at the pillows. "How you want?"

"Like this," Sid says, climbing onto the bed. He gets on his knees and props his elbows up on one of the pillows, then looks up at Ovechkin. "Okay?"

"Very okay," Ovie says. He's got lube and a condom in his hands; he puts them down and... pets Sid, stroking from his shoulders all the way down over his butt. It feels weirdly good. "You like?"

"Yeah," Sid says, leaning into the touch. "I... wow. Yeah." He keeps expecting it to tickle, or make him jump, but Ovie's hands are strong and predictable, and instead, it's just turning him on more. "Okay, that's -- can you, I mean..."

"Impatient," Ovie says, but he sounds like he's smiling, and he moves his hands down to Sid's butt. "You do this before?"

"I'm not a _virgin,_ " Sid says. "Of course I've done this before."

"Good." And then there's a slick finger dipping into his hole, and fuck, that feels amazing. Usually -- well, the other four times he's done this -- it feels good, but he loses his boner anyway. That's normal, he read it online. But this time he stays hard, and if he wasn't sure something strange had happened by now, he definitely is now. "You like?"

"More," Sid says, and Ovie obliges. He's good at this, Sid realizes, a little surprised. Not that it's unexpected for Ovechkin to be good with his hands, but it's different for girls, Sid's heard, and... "Ow!"

"Pay attention," Ovie says, and bites him again, right where his jock goes over his hip.

"I am paying attention! You have your fingers in my ass!"

"Good job." Then his fingers slide out, and Sid feels so bereft that he reaches down to fist his dick, just to feel _something._ "Won't help," Ovie points out. "Be patient."

"Oh, like you're some kind of... Jedi," Sid snaps.

"Jedi Master of _sex,_ " Ovie agrees. "Now relax, Sid." He wraps one big hand around Sid's hip to brace himself, then slides slowly in.

"Fuck, Ovie," Sid says, pushing back against him.

"Okay?" he asks. He even stops moving, although Sid can feel him almost quivering with the effort it takes.

"Jesus, yeah, it's okay, it's good," Sid says. "Come on, you can move."

And he does, thrusting in shallowly at first, then, when Sid starts letting himself make a little noise, grasping his hips and going harder and deeper. Sid slides forward on one particularly enthusiastic thrust and has to brace himself to keep from getting a face full of headboard, but he doesn't even mind. Ovie's dick driving into him feels amazing, like nothing else he's done, like that same warm tingle from his hands is spreading all over him, inside and out.

"Sid, you feel so good," Ovie says, then mutters something in Russian.

"What are you saying?" Sid asks, with the few brain cells that haven't melted yet.

"Doesn't translate," Ovie says. His rhythm breaks a little, a few short thrusts, and Sid whines in the back of his throat, trying to lean into him and get what he wants. "Is... little names. What's the English? Like Sid for Sidney, Zhenya for Evgeni."

"Nicknames?" Sid tries, then, "No, pet names!"

"Pet names," Ovie agrees. He strokes Sidney's back again. "Like, oh, Sid, such a pretty ass."

Sid laughs, which, oh, wow, makes him clench a little, and that feels incredibly good. "Thanks, I think," he says.

"Is my pleasure," Ovie says, and he thrusts in again, making Sid cry out. "You close, Sid?"

"I -- don't know," Sid says. "Maybe?"

"I help more," Ovie says. He reaches around and wraps his hand around Sid's dick, jerking him off in the same rhythm he's using to fuck him.

"Oh, fuck, Ovie, _Ovie,_ " Sid says, squeezing his eyes shut. "Keep going, oh, God, I'm going to come, I think."

"Good," Ovie says, and Sid thinks he feels him press a kiss to his shoulder blade, but he's too busy coming his brains out. Ovie jerks him through it, then asks, "Okay if I finish?"

"Sure," Sidney says, resting his head on his folded arms. "You can do whatever you want after that. You want my house?"

"You live there?" Ovie asks, rolling his hips slowly into Sid.

"Not really," Sid says. "I mostly still live with Mario."

"Then I don't want." His hands clench harder on Sid's hips, and he says something in Russian again as he comes. Then he pulls out and slumps bonelessly next to Sid.

Sid slowly straightens his legs, letting himself flatten out against the bed, and turns to look at Ovie. Ovie's looking back at him with those clear blue eyes. "Thanks," Sidney says.

"No problem," Ovie says.

"I... thanks," Sid says again. "That was... nice of you. You're a good friend."

Ovie's face lights up. "You a good friend too, Sid." He leans in and kisses Sid quickly.

Sid catches him as he's pulling back and kisses him again, longer this time. "We could do this again, if you wanted," he says.

"Have all night," Ovie says. "I warn Geno."

"You did?" Sid blinks. He hadn't even noticed Ovie talking to Geno, but maybe he's not as good at noticing as he could be. "Cool."

"Cool," Ovie agrees. He puts an arm around Sid, and Sid doesn't even mind that much.


End file.
